


Handwerk

by Aurea_Aetas



Category: Die Ärzte
Genre: Anal Fisting, Coming Untouched, Drabble, Fisting, Friends With Benefits, I'm Sorry, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurea_Aetas/pseuds/Aurea_Aetas
Summary: Das größte überhaupt ist doch den schlagzeuger zu fisten.
Relationships: Bela B/Farin Urlaub
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Handwerk

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Goldenes Handwerk too many times on repeat today and my brain wouldn't let me rest until I wrote this. Not Beta'd, I just had to get this out of my system.

Bela found himself staring at Farin’s hands one day during practice. Like the rest of him, his fingers were slender and long. They easily formed complex chords, dextrous enough from decades of playing to move from one to another without so much as a second thought. Truly he had the hands of a guitarist. They were so unlike Bela's own hands, which were dextrous in their own ways, but in the way of a drummer. He had speed, he could do countless tricks with his drumsticks, but playing guitar was another matter entirely. He had gotten better with practice and countless exercises over the years, but Farin still had the advantage of _those fingers_ over him.

They were good at other things, too, which Bela was more than acquainted with. The more he stared, the more his mind started to wander to the nights they shared together. Particularly, the nights Farin would spend what felt like an eternity stretching him, probing deep into him with his fingers. It was never enough.

Farin winked when he caught him staring, and Bela felt his face heat up in a combination of arousal and embarrassment. He had hoped he wasn’t being too obvious, but Farin was always the observant one between them. Neither mentioned his staring for the rest of practice, but when Farin invited him—and not Rod—to his house afterwards to _“discuss the album,”_ Bela knew what was in store for him. 

That was how he wound up on his stomach in the middle of Farin’s bed, ass propped up with a small stack of pillows beneath his hips.

Farin had started the night eating him out until he squirmed, and as nice as that was, Bela's true pleasure came from the digits he had been unable to stop thinking about all day. He was up to the second finger inside of him, scissoring and curling at all the right angles to hit his prostate. Usually it would be at that point where he would withdraw and replace his fingers with his cock. But not tonight. Bela had other plans. 

A whine slipped from his lips as he felt Farin finally pull out. “Keep going,” He urged, breathless as he pushed his hips back. His cock—already leaking with precum from the constant barrage against his prostate—rubbed against the pillow beneath him and he shivered, resisting the urge to rut against it and chase the sensation.

“That was the plan,” Farin replied, the amusement obvious in his voice. He slid the length of his hard cock against Bela’s hole to emphasize his point. He then pressed his blunt cockhead against him, teasing but not yet breaching him.

“No. I mean, with your fingers,” Bela explained, looking over his shoulder as best he could to gauge the guitarist’s reaction. He put on a smirk as he spoke his request, ever the suave and confident Count: “I want your whole hand.”

He saw Farin’s eyebrows raise at the initial confession, but the look of surprise quickly morphed into one of mischief that Bela knew well. His wide grin showed off too much teeth, not unlike a predator, and Bela knew he was in. “Is that what you were thinking about at practice, then?” He asked, sliding his still lube-slick fingers back into him easily. “Why you couldn’t stop staring at my hands? You were thinking about me wrist-deep in your ass?”

With each question, Farin thrust his fingers back into him. He sounded far too delighted as he teased him, but Bela couldn’t even deny it. “I always want more,” he explained, grunting each time the fingers dove back into him.

Farin hummed at that, as if contemplating Bela’s word choice. “You do, don’t you.” 

Bela knew the comment was a drag, but any complaint died in his throat after one final, rough thrust into him. The fingers left him again after that, and Bela could hear the snap as Farin popped open the container of lube. He used the paused to readjust himself, propping himself up on his elbows and spreading his knees further.

The shock of cold lube being poured directly on his hole distracted from the sudden press of three fingers into him shortly afterward. It was uncomfortable at first, but not a foreign feeling entirely. Three was a rare treat, when Farin wanted to draw the teasing out particularly long. Only this time instead of simply fucking him with the three digits, he began stretching him with them, scissoring them in preparation for the next. 

The initial stretch of Farin’s pinkie joining the rest wasn’t too much at first, as slender as the digit was. However, Bela started to feel it once he began to move them. Even with the extra lube, Farin scissoring the fourth finger inside of him felt raw and unyielding. 

_“Fuck,”_ He grunted, his head dropping forward between his arms. His hands found his hair, then, tugging the red and black dyed spikes as a sort of distraction. Farin paused to give him time to adjust, and as much as he would never admit it, Bela was grateful. 

Soon enough, he was pushing himself back against the fingers, fucking himself on them in a wordless plea for Farin to move. The pain had disappeared, leaving only pleasure and an eagerness to continue. The guitarist let him fuck himself for a while longer, thrusting into him one final time before withdrawing completely again.

Bela’s head popped up when he heard the lube open again, and he looked over his shoulder to watch as Farin slicked his entire fist liberally. “Thumb’s next,” He warned, as if Bela wasn’t well aware that the end was in sight. He let out a slow, shuddering breath in anticipation—as exhilarated as he was nervous—and nodded his head in acknowledgement. His cock throbbed between his legs, as hard as he had been when they began. 

Bela felt every minute movement of Farin’s thumb breaching him. The pain was too much, yet simultaneously everything he could have ever wanted. He gripped the sheets beneath him with white knuckles, gritting his teeth. Still, he willed himself to relax, to let Farin’s hand in. More and more, he felt the thick intrusion inch into him, until suddenly it stopped. He could feel the sting of tears in his eyes, and he blinked them away.

“Amazing,” He heard Farin sigh from behind him, over the pounding of his pulse in his ears. “How do you feel?”

“Really fucking full.” Bela replied simply, unable to string together anything more coherent. How else _could_ he describe it? That he understood the meaning of “rearranging your guts” now? He didn’t want to explain, he just wanted to _feel_ , to allow himself to drown in the overwhelming sensation. 

He didn’t know how long they sat there, Farin-wrist deep inside of him as he had promised, but soon enough he started to move again. Bela whimpered as he pulled back, as slowly as he had entered him. There was a pause, almost a hesitation, and he pushed forward again. The squelch of excess lube as he pushed his hand into him again was positively obscene. The initial pain of the stretch was still there, though it had faded to a throb in the back of Bela’s mind instead of a white-hot glow.

Carefully, experimentally, Farin began to move his fingers inside of him, minuscule movements that felt more like grand, wild gestures. As one of the twitches found Bela’s prostate, that dull throb of pain disappeared entirely. His body jerked subconsciously, pushing Farin’s hand harder against his prostate, and he cried out. Farin’s free hand grabbed his hip, steadying him and regaining control. He began moving his hand in earnest then, a push and pull in and out of him that had nowhere to go but directly against Bela’s prostate.

Bela could no longer contain his shouts of pleasure, his throat raw. Without even realizing it, he had reached his peak. Lost in the sensation of Farin pushing his fist back into him, it wasn't long until Bela came untouched, spilling between his stomach and the pillow still beneath him.

His body was easily moved after that, utterly boneless as Farin guided him off the cum and lube-stained pillows to a cleaner section of the bed. The same hands that had just wrecked him took care of him in an instant: wiping him down, inspecting him for any real damage, soothing him—without any regard for his own yet-to-be-reached pleasure.

Bela quickly decided that as soon as he recovered he would show Farin just what a drummer’s hands could do.


End file.
